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February – what a month. The effects of the crassusin were definitely starting to show now. The month of January, with the appetite increaser added to the cafeteria’s already fatty foods, wreaked havoc on more than a few beltlines.
Andre was sporting a distinct beer belly now. All the food focused there, as his arms and legs, though less defined, remained thin. I was sporting a spare tire and a half, to say the least. Sweatpants all day, every day.
Ever since Tara quit swimming and ate the crassusin, the change has been slow but steady. Her washboard abs were gone, with maybe an inch of fat now covering them. She must’ve gone up a bra size or two, and her butt was looking healthier. Tara was not fat by any means, but no longer the hard-as-steel swimmer she was but a month or two ago.
MacKenzie hadn’t caved. After two weeks of crassusin, she noticed that her pants were snug. She panicked and has virtually gone on a hunger strike for the last three weeks. She was thin, and now looking ill. She refused to eat anything but half a slice of the cafeteria’s apple pie, and used her considerable willpower to shirk away all other foods.
Everyone was uncomfortable now at lunch, as their clothes were becoming restrictive. The other day, I heard a *plink* in my cup – it was somebody’s pants button flying across the cafeteria. Tara, who was always a jeans-and-crop-top kinda gal, was looking increasingly less comfortable every day.
Our group were splitting a full-size pizza (except for MacKenzie). Well, our third full-size pizza.
“Do you think this will get out of control?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” said Tara.
“Like, all we want to do is eat more. Will that, like, stop?”
“I sure hope so. I know I’m not thin anymore, but I sure don’t want to be the size of a house!”
“And what would be wrong with that?” I goaded.
“Well…like...I wouldn’t be able to walk anywhere!” said Tara.
“Ah, you’re overthinking. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Enjoy the food!” I said as I downed another milkshake.
Tara grabbed hers and reluctantly sipped it all down.
MacKenzie now was in academic trouble. Her refusal to eat 3000 calories a lunch resulted in “Remedial Lunch.” She no longer ate with us. But one day in late February she came back looking different.
“Hi guys!” said MacKenzie excitedly. She looked huge – easily the heaviest of us all (proportionally). Maybe she weighed around 180 pounds. Her butt was beginning to dimple, she had a fairly healthy potbelly, and her boobs were much bigger than I remembered.
“MacKenzie!” we all exclaimed in surprise.
“You look amazing!!” I said, totally meaning it.
“Remedial Lunch really did a number on me, huh? They taught me that being fat was a good thing and that I shouldn’t be afraid of it. I’m well on my way to 200 and above!” she said.
Tara looked confused. “So you don’t care about being fat anymore?”
“Nope! They showed me videos and studies that show that it is healthy and normal!”
“Alright, I guess I should stop worrying so much too.”
I smiled.